


The Shape Guilt Takes

by LeannieBananie



Series: A Madness Made for Two [8]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Delirium, Drug Use, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Hallucinations, Overdosing, Survivor Guilt, Swearing, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-25 12:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6196040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeannieBananie/pseuds/LeannieBananie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The darker side of chem use. Jo takes a bad hit of med-x and starts hallucinating that Hancock is Nate. Hancock takes care of her while she is coming down, dealing with her violent reactions, fear, and survivor guilt, but how does this affect him?</p><p>*Darker type fic, but it's more angst than anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are welcomed! Also, holler at me if you see any mistakes. Thank you and enjoy.

“Hey Solomon.” Jo hailed the scruffy chem dealer with a tired smile. Her overloaded pack was digging into her shoulders and caused her already sore back to protest with a sharp twinge. She had been surprised by a small group of raiders while trying to enter Diamond City. The nearby city guard, Dogmeat, and her explosive shotgun had been more than enough to clear them out, but she had tripped over a curb and wrenched her back in the process. So while it hadn’t been her intention to purchase chems here, she knew she wouldn’t make it back to Goodneighbor without some med-x and Dr. Sun overcharged. 

“Every chem for every need!” Returning her greeting with a sales pitch, Solomon scratched at his scraggly hair with a grin full of stained teeth. 

“Have any med-x?” 

“Sure do, just give me a sec.” Solomon immediately turned and began rifling through his supplies, turning to reveal the chem clutched carefully his fist. She readily swapped the required caps for the innocuous looking syringe, sunlight twinkling off the clear liquid in the glass. Saying a quick farewell she called for Dogmeat and struck out, anxious to return to Goodneighbor and a roguish mayor who was eagerly awaiting her return. 

. 

. 

Dodging the bodies that still littered the street Jo slid into a nearby ally to take care of her sore back. Dogmeat diligently stood guard while she leaned against a brick wall and methodically rolled up her sleeve. Working quickly she found a vein and inserted the needle, hissing as the medication burned its way into her system. Her arm immediately went abnormally numb and tingly around the injection site, but she ignored it. It wasn’t the first time she had struck something other than vein with a needle and it wouldn’t be the last. Shaking off the irritating sting she stood and started walking again, Dogmeat dutifully trotting at her heel. 

. 

. 

Jo was several blocks from Diamond City when she started to sweat. It started as a light sheen across her forehead and grew until the collar of her shirt was damp and she could feel it trickling down her back. Dogmeat whined quietly at her feet, glancing at her with brown eyes clouded with concern. She hushed him and rapidly blinked her eyes to clear her vision, which swam with black dots and was fading in and out of focus. She staggered to a halt, swaying unsteadily on her feet. Placing a hand on a nearby wall she held herself up and wiped at her eyes, trying to clear the stinging sweat from them. Dogmeat paced in front of her, clearly worried about her. She was worried too. 

“I’m okay boy.” She managed to slur, gasping when searing heat coursed through her arm. It started at the red pinhole from her med-x earlier and radiated through her entire arm. The fierce burn stole her breath and she curled herself around it protectively when her knees suddenly gave out and she collapsed, slumping against the wall with a cry of pain. 

“Argh!” Biting off the echoing sound she whimpered and focused on remaining silent. Being quiet meant the difference between life and death in a place where nearly everything wanted to kill you and where one odd noise was enough to bring unwanted, deadly attention. Even Dogmeat understood that as he lay by her crouched form, alert and tense, scanning the horizon for danger. 

Panting, Jo struggled to catch her breath. She couldn’t stay here, exposed and in the open in the middle of raider territory, but she wasn’t sure she would make it much further before collapsing. Her arm was limp, every movement caused unbearable pain and her head was pounding. She squinted against the offensive sunlight and tried to make sense of the hazy shapes around her, but it was useless, she could barely see two feet in front of her. 

_What the fuck was in that chem?_ She wondered feverishly as her head and arm let out a particularly vicious throb. Her entire world narrowed down to her blurry vision and the agony that writhed and pulsed inside of her like a living, breathing thing. Every movement, from breathing to blinking amplified her suffering until it was impossible to focus on anything but the pain. Gritting her teeth and clutching Dogmeats armor in a death grip, she staggered up and pushed herself forwards with a grimace. She had to make it to Goodneighbor before this got any worse. 

Two blocks later she collapsed face down into the street. She was unconscious and vulnerable, clearly visibly from any angle on the street. Dogmeat circled her anxiously, nudging at her lifeless form once before turning and taking off at a determined sprint.


	2. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo makes it back to Goodneighbor.

Hancock heard the shouting and barking from his office. He had been propped back in his chair, boots on the desk and ankles crossed, tricorn over his eyes, daydreaming about Jo when the noise reached his ears. With a grumble he swung his feet down and got up, adjusting his hat before moseying over to the balcony and peering out. There was a group of people by the gate gathered around a prone form on the ground. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence in Goodneighbor and he almost wandered back inside to resume his fantasy, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of red. 

Not very many people had that out-of-the-bottle Diamond City red hair. 

And even fewer owned a dog decked out in armor and a bandana. 

His feet had him out the door and down the stairs before he knew it. He slammed the door open, stumbling down the state house steps in frantic haste. The stragglers on the edge of the group moved readily out of his way, but those caught unaware were roughly shoved aside with a feral snarl. Citizens recoiled from his enraged gaze and crept away with hushed murmurs until only a small handful were left. 

Heart in his throat he carefully knelt by her prone body, Dogmeat pushing at his arm and whining, obviously stressed about his mistress. Hancock didn’t have it in himself to comfort the animal, all he could do was stare at her body and think, _not again_. She was sprawled where the caravan workers had dropped her; limbs tangled, face streaked with dirt and sweat. She wasn’t dead, but something was wrong. Her skin was flushed and she lay there twitching and moaning, eyes darting madly behind closed lids. 

Hancock visibly steeled himself, shaking off the fog that left him unable to move and reached for her. Carefully, but resolutely he started pulling her free of her gear, biting his lip against the whimpers she produced. When the straps fell away he scooped her up with a quiet grunt and glanced at Daisy, whose brow was creased with worry. 

“Daisy, go get Dr. Amari. I’m going to move her into my office.” He didn’t wait to see if his order was obeyed, but headed immediately towards the state house. Cradling her carefully he pushed open the door and waited for Dogmeat, who was busy guarding her near empty pack. His lip curled in a sneer. The caravan must have emptied her pack of anything of value before bringing her here. 

_Fucking scavvers_.

“Dogmeat, come boy.” Her faithful hound instantly abandoned the bag and rushed past him, up the spiral staircase. John traversed the rickety stairs with more care, but equal haste, reminding himself that her pained cries meant she was still alive. Whatever else was wrong with her could be fixed, as long as she was alive. 

Marching into his office he deposited her on his grungy bed in the corner and began removing her armor. He piled it neatly in the corner, knowing she would give him hell if he dinged it up any more than it already was. Jo was protective over her gear. Her shotgun! He didn’t even bother looking for it, it was long gone, probably in the hands of one of the caravan worker. _Fucking bastards._ He snarled, feeling the overwhelming urge to smash something, to curse and rage and bring the state house down around their heads. He should have gone with her, fucking Diamond City or not. He should have been with her. If he had, none of this would have happened! Jo moaned and let out a particularly forceful twitch, drawing him from his vengeful, bloodthirsty thoughts. 

“Hey love, I’m here.” He murmured, smoothing the hair away from her brow and pouring some water on a ratty cloth to sooth her heated skin. He might have failed to protect her, but he sure as shit would care for her now. 

“John?” His heart leapt when she responded. Her words were sluggish and slow, but then her eyes blinked open and he smiled, relieved and worried all at the same time. Her pupils were huge, nearly swallowing the ring of rich brown around them. They darted nervously around the room before settling on his face and the fear that filled them made his heart stop all over again. 

“Jo?” He asked cautiously, kneeling beside the bed. She recoiled sharply and shrank into the farthest corner of the bed, yanking at the blanket and using it as a flimsy shield. 

“You’re dead.” She muttered frantically, rocking back and forth and shaking her head violently. “No. No. No!” Her denial grew in volume until it was a deafening shriek. Dogmeat whined loudly, slinking away to hide under his desk. Hancock didn’t blame him. 

“Jo, love I’m right here. You’re safe.” His voice broke as he reached for her. He didn’t know what to do and where the fuck was Amari? 

“Get away from me! You’re dead!” She screamed again, trying to scramble back, but there was nowhere for her to go. Cornered she lashed out, dull nails scraping his flesh and drawing blood. Hissing he pulled back, briefly inspecting the raw scratches before glancing at Jo again. She was cowering on the bed, hands pressed against her eyes and knees tight to her chest. She was rocking again and he could hear her distressed whispers. 

“He’s dead, he’s dead. You don’t have to go back. He’s dead.” Hearing voices on the stairs, Hancock silently retreated, leaving Jo to her ghosts to meet them at the door. 

“How is she?” Dr. Amari asked. 

“She’s not injured.” He started, glancing back at Jo. She was still curled into a ball, muttering to herself. He swallowed thickly. “But I think she’s high on something. She’s delirious and hallucinating.” 

“Let me see her, wait here.” 

“Be careful doc, she’s pretty upset. Scratched me good.” He held up the injured arm as proof. Dr. Amari merely nodded before entering the room. The dark haired woman was speaking too softly for them to hear, but her soothing tone had the desired effect and Jo seemed to relax slightly. She remained silent, but allowed the doctor to examine her.

Hancock waited anxiously, wishing he could hold and comfort her, but he couldn’t. When Dr. Amari made her exit he halted his pacing and faced her, worry lodged tightly in his throat. 

“How is she?” 

“She will be fine, but right now she is under the influence of a very powerful chem. What exactly, I do not know and she refused to say, if she could at all. The injection site is inflamed, but I cleaned it and it shouldn’t become infected. Whatever it is, she’s fighting it, but her pulse is rapid and she has a fever.” 

“Can you do anything?” He hadn’t meant to snap at her, but she just looked thoughtfully at him before continuing. 

“Unfortunately no. Without knowing what exactly she took I fear giving her something that might make her symptoms worse or possibly kill her. Keep her warm, as calm as possible, and hydrated.” 

“Do you know when this shit will be out of her system?” 

“We also don’t know when she took the chem or how long she was out there before the caravan found her, but it is safe to say it has been several hours since she injected it. If it were a normal situation I would guess a few more hours, but I really cannot say. I’ve never seen a chem reaction like this before. It could be a few hours to a day, but hopefully no longer than that.” That was apparently the end of Dr. Amari’s help and she proceeded to gather her things and leave. Daisy led the way, vanishing downstairs, but Amari paused at the top of the stairs to say, “Fetch me if she worsens or wakes, but I will be back in a few hours.”


	3. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock cares for Jo, but at what cost?

The state house was eerily silent, everyone having fled his wrath. The only noise was the wind creaking against the building and Jo, muttering in hushed whispers to herself. She was wrapped in the blanket in a tight ball, staring into the room with eyes that registered nothing. Taking a deep, fortifying breath Hancock returned to the room, closing the door behind him. He slowly peeled off his jacket, trying to ignore her wary gaze on him as he puttered around the room, grabbing some purified water and a clean cloth. 

He approached her cautiously, holding the harmless items in his hands as an offering. She shook her head rapidly and immediately slammed her eyes shut, as if closing them could make him vanish. 

“You’re supposed to be _dead_.” Her voice was filled with such heartbreaking anguish that it cut at him like a knife. She was obviously distraught and terrified of whatever it was she was seeing, of whoever she thought he was. He had never felt so fucking helpless in his entire life. 

“Who’s dead love?” He asked, slowly sitting next to the bed. She flinched at the noises he made, but didn’t retreat or open her eyes. Maybe that was a good sign. 

“You.” She whimpered, pressing her hands against her eyes again. 

“But I’m right here love. I’ve got you, you’re safe now. Here, take a drink for me.” He barely touched her hand with his, but she shrieked and flung out her arm, knocking the drink away and shrinking away from him again. 

“No! I’m not yours. I won’t be! I won’t go back.” 

_She’s high. She doesn’t know what she’s saying._ He tried to reason with himself, to remind himself that she wasn’t in her right mind, but her vehement rejection still stung. How was he supposed to care for her when she didn’t want him near her? When his very presence made her hysterical? Regardless, he needed her to stay hydrated, so gritting his teeth he firmly repeated his request. 

“Alright Jo, but I need you to take a drink though.” Her brown eyes blinked at him owlishly and she shakily took the refilled glass, sloshing water over the rim as she drank greedily. There was a faint glimmer of recognition in her eyes or he maybe he just imagined it, because then the anxiety clouded her gaze again and she fucking cowered from him. 

“Please go away. I’m happy here.” 

_What the hell does that mean?_

“Happy where lo-” He caught himself before he called her love, he didn’t want to cause her to panic again. “Happy where Jo?” She frowned at him again, but her expression was more irritated than scared; she was looking at him like he was stupid. It wasn’t exactly an improvement, but he’d take it over the debilitating fear she had been experiencing. 

“With John.” 

“What?” It was inappropriate, but a huge grin swept over his face and he let out a choked laugh. Whoever she thought he was, it wasn’t actually _him_. Even strung out on whatever the fuck she was on, she still loved him and was terrified that she was going to be taken away from him. It was twisted as all fuck, but he was happy about it. Not over her suffering, but that she cared that much about him and them. He laughed again and her scowl deepened. 

“You shouldn’t be happy. I love another man. I-I don’t love you anymore.” Her voice cracked on her admission and tears trailing down her cheeks. Clutching the empty cup to her chest she wept, silent tears turning into heartbroken sobs. Unable to help himself he quickly gathered her into his arms, surprised when she didn’t turn away. Instead she buried her head into his chest and cried, soaking his shirt with her tears as he rocked her and rubbed soothing hands up and down her back. 

“I’m so sorry Nate!” She howled, tightening her grip on his shirt. Hancock blinked in shock, caught off guard by her apology. 

She thought he was Nate. Her dead husband. 

_Fuck_. 

Struggling and failing to find any words, he continued to stroke her back. It made sense, in a fucked up sort of way, especially considering all the guilt she still harbored. It felt wrong though, like he was wearing another man’s skin and living another man’s life. But this wasn’t about him, this was about her and her need for absolution in the face of everything that had happened to her. It pained him that he couldn’t do anything for her. 

Shuddering he pulled her a little closer and dropped his weather cheek on her head. 

“Hush now love. I understand.” He whispered, feeling her still. Hiccupping softly she sniffed and loosened her grip on him, but kept her face hidden. 

“How could you? You- you died Nate and–” They both tensed, Hancock waiting anxiously for her words and Jo fighting to get them past uncooperative lips. “It should have been me. You’re gone and I’m here and it should have been _me_. What kind of mother am I?” Her shoulders quaked as she started crying again, slumping against him until her head was in his lap. Tangling shaking fingers in her hair he soothed her as best he could. Slowly her uncontrollable sobs eased until she fell into a deep sleep, hopefully erasing the last of the chem from her system and healing her soul in a way he couldn’t. Watching her sleep, he wished for nothing more than an extra-large dose of something that would put him into a chem induced stupor and wipe away all his whirling, macabre thoughts. 

On the outside Hancock was silent and calm, but on the inside he was a fucking wreck, his mind spinning in a thousand directions and all of them bad. He tried to remain logical and beat back old insecurities he thought he had left behind; she was high, delirious, and hallucinating. She loved him, John Hancock –not Nate– and he was nothing like her late husband. It was useless though, because what if he was like Nate? What if that was why she was with him and the only reason why she loved him? 

_Fuck._


	4. Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whiskey and absolution.

Jo sat on the couch with her knees drawn up to her chin, staring out the window. The citizens of Goodneighbor bustled about in the dirty streets below, ready with a grin, sharp retort, or bullet if necessary. From up here they looked happy, without a worry in the world. She knew the truth was the opposite of that, but it was nice to pretend that at least someone was content with their life. Turning away from them, she glanced at Hancock who was diligently flipping through a stack of paperwork Fahrenheit had given him. She bit back a sigh and watched him frown at a particularly messy section, wondering what it would take to get him to talk to her. 

It had been just over two weeks since her accidental overdose and Hancock had been withdrawn, sullen, and brooding. He avoided her like she had a mole rat virus, leaving his office-bedroom before she woke and coming back long after she fell asleep. Once she had gotten up in the morning to find him sprawled uncomfortably on the couch, reeking of cigarettes and cheap beer –the unofficial perfume of the Third Rail. He looked haunted, with shadows below his eyes and exhaustion lining every weathered inch of his face. She had pulled the blanket off the bed and tucked it around him tightly, lingering to watch him sleep. Jo had wanted nothing more than to curl herself around him and go back to sleep, safe in his arms, but she knew that if she did he would wake and leave. So she had quietly slipped out and barred everyone entrance, letting him get the rest he sorely needed, much like he had done for her so long ago. 

But that Hancock came from a dream, as if she had been living in another world. His actions were now even more erratic and restless than during the confusion before her gunshot wound. If his previous behavior was anything to go off of, it would take a herd of deathclaws to get him to talk about his feelings and at this point Jo was feeling stubborn enough to round them up herself! She must have made a noise of discontent, because he glanced up at her, but when their eyes met he immediately turned back to his paperwork. 

Huffing she stood up and began moving around the room with a barely controlled fury, forcefully slamming garbage into the bin and violently making the bed. In the middle of pounding the pillows into submission, Hancock’s caustic voice interrupted her, 

“Are you okay?” Jo almost decided to ignore him, but figured one of them would have to be the adult. 

“I’m fine!” She snapped, before giving the pillows one last punch. _So much for being the adult Jo._ Sighing she turned, glaring at the couch with a vengeful eye. She could feel his dark eyes on her, all black and unreadable. And to think at one time she had found them irresistible. Ignoring him she began clearing the couch off all its junk, shaking out the ratty throw blanket and plumping the cushions with a vicious hand. 

“Riiight.” He drawled, his raspy voice grating on her nerves. “Because you look fine.” She whirled to glare at him and was gratified to see him flinch in surprise. Advancing quickly she stopped in front of his fist and pointed a finger at his chest, glad to see him look uneasy.

“What do you care how I am? You haven’t bothered to say three words to me since I woke up and now you get to have an opinion on my feelings? I don’t fucking think so! When you’re ready to pull your head out of your ass you come find me John.” Leaving him gawking, she stormed out, slamming the door so hard plaster and paint chips rained down on her shoulders. Growling under her breath she left the state house, feeling frustration simmering below the surface.

_Stubborn fucking ghoul._

He rage fueled march was interrupted by Daisy, who waved from behind her booth in her store.

“Afternoon Jo!”

“Hey Daisy. How’s it going?” Jo pulled a stool up to the counter and sat down, propping her elbows up on the battered surface. Resting her chin in her hands she quietly watched the woman wipe down the bar. 

“It’s good. Shipment went out this morning, smooth as can be. How are you feelin’?” 

“I’ve been better.” Jo dropped her forehead to the chipped bar, letting out an exasperated groan. “Hancock is driving me fucking crazy.” 

“Men.” Daisy scoffed, dropping the rag in favor of a bottle of whiskey. Pouring a generous splash in two glasses, she pushed the chipped coffee mug in Jo’s direction. Catching the older woman’s conspiring wink she took the mug with a shrewd smirk. Clinking the rims together both women burst out laughing before downing the fiery liquid in one big gulp. As Daisy refilled their glasses, Jo divulged her troubles and by the time she was finished the bottle was empty and the room was spinning the most pleasant, dizzying way possible. Daisy laid a comforting hand on Jo’s and slurred, 

“Listen Jo, listen. I get it, men can be the stupidest creatures on earth right next to mutants, but Hancock’s a good one. You should forgive ‘im.” 

“I know that! But he’s bein’ an ass-face. He won’t tell me what the fuck’s wrong and I don’t remember!” Jo cried, reeling on her stool as the world gave a sudden lurch. “Whoa!” She giggled, losing the fight with gravity and pitching to the side. Strong, capable hands grabbed her shoulders and righted her before she fell. Letting out a surprised burp she slumped against the lean, hard body against her side, patting it randomly in thanks. Daisy snorted in laughter, trying to cover it with her hand. 

“Thank you good sir.” Jo said with exaggerated formality, pushing off the stranger to grasp the counter with fumbling hands. “I’m good.” 

“Jo.” Hancock’s rough voice sent chills slithering down her spine and she straightened so abruptly that she nearly fell off her perch again. His hands held her firmly in place and he frowned down at her. Returning his censure with a glare of her own she spitefully snatched the mug and downed the last drops of liquor, savoring the warm burn as she swallowed. “You told me to find you when I –what was it you said again? Yeah, when I pulled my head out of my ass. And here you are, fucking are knee deep in whiskey.” She snorted and winked clumsily at Daisy. 

“Elbow deep at least.” His frown just deepened and he tightened his grip, guiding her off the stool. 

“I think you’ve had enough. Night Daisy.” Jo struggled against his hold, hissing like a wet cat when he pulled her out into the street. Hancock ignored her, struggling to remain aloof and angry at her. He had eavesdropped long enough to know she was pissed and to hear her laugh, the sound warming his heart. She hadn’t been so open and free with him in weeks and it was his own damn fault. He missed her. Lost in his own thoughts he wasn’t paying attention and she let out a loud shout, twisting her arm free. In the process she tripped and fell, sprawling across the pavement with a grunt. Hancock folded his arms and stared down at her, trying to stop the smile that tugged at his lips. 

“Stop fucking laughing at me.” She grumbled, flopping over onto her back to glower up at him. 

“I’m not laughing at you.” But even as he said it a chuckle broke free. 

“Are too!” She yelled, trying and failing to stand up. Nothing was fucking cooperating. Especially her stupid ghoul boyfriend. 

“Let me help-”

“I’ve got it!” He stepped back, holding out his hands as she finally managed to find her feet, swaying perilously on them. Thankfully her anger was short lived and she looped an arm around his waist to use him as a crutch as they slowly weaved their way towards the state house. “Why won’t you talk to me?” She mumbled, sleep and drink blurring her words together. 

“Why won’t you talk to me?” 

“Don’t do that. Answer a question with a question. S’annoying.” They walked in silence for a moment before she asked, “Talk t’you ‘bout what?” The stairs to the door were daunting, but with Hancock’s help she maneuvered them slowly, never releasing her death grip on his jacket. 

“Nate.” She tripped over the last step and Hancock tugged her against his chest as he caught her, barely resisting the urge to bury his nose in her hair. His heart beat painfully in his chest as he waited for her answer, feeling her tremble slightly in his arms. 

“What- how-” Her voice cracked and he softly responded, 

“What you were high. You were hallucinating and you- you thought I was Nate. You said things Jo, things about him dying and you being a mother.” He sighed deeply, carefully urging her forwards again. “It freaked me the hell out.” 

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” They paused in the middle of the staircase so she could stare earnestly into his eyes. “You are not Nate and I would never want you to be.” The sudden clarity of her words made him narrow his eyes suspiciously, but then she pressed a hand to his cheek, distracting him with its softness. “You are the man that was made for me John Hancock and I wouldn’t want you any other way. I-I just feel like I’ve failed them both.” She turned away, tears stinging her eyes. “Nate is dead and Shaun has vanished and its _my_ fault.” 

Urgently Hancock gripped her chin and forced her to look at him, seeing the unshed tears filling her eyes. He squeezed gently when she tried to look away again. 

“Jo, _look_ at me.” Reluctantly she listened and he pressed a quick kiss against her lips. “You aren’t to blame for what happened to your family, the damn Institute is. And we will find Shaun, I promise you.” She sobbed and threw her arms around his neck, letting him pick her up and carry her the rest of the way upstairs. 

He dropped her carefully next to the bed and silently they stripped. She laid down first, rolling to face the wall and he curved himself around her, pulling the blanket up to their chins. He hooked one arm around her waist, resting it on the soft curve of her stomach and wedged one leg between hers. 

“I love you John.” Her soft admission made him smile and he kissed her neck. 

Hancock might not have been able to help her two weeks ago, when she was wracked with guilt and high, but tonight they had helped each other. Tonight they were both breathing easier, their burdens –her guilt and his insecurity– lighter for having been shared. Feeling her snuggle a little closer he sighed as an unexpected feeling of contentment washed over him. For tonight at least, they were free.


End file.
